A Source of Pride

I am what I suppose one would call “talented.” Music, that is. Music is my passion.

But this musing is not about music. Well, it is, but not exactly. You see, recently, my band teacher invited a man who teaches at some university somewhere to come to my school and talk about writing music. For my senior project, I wrote a piece I named A Tune for Baby Kyra. So I played it at the concert that night.

But BEFORE the concert there was a workshop of sorts to help with the music. And he did. His name was Mr. Gaggerpuff or something. I must’ve mispronounced his name several times that afternoon and even more that evening.

HOWEVER, this is not about the evening. You see, when I was leaving to go home before the concert, I accidentally heard Mr. Gaggerpuff tell my band teacher that I had talent when it came to writing music.

I paused for a moment, smiling at myself. I turned only to see that I was not meant to hear the comment, as it was not directed at me. Oh, I wish I could have seen my face.

You see, only a few days before, I had decided I wanted to write music for a living, rather than teach.

This morning, my teacher confronted me between classes. “Mr. Gaggerpuff,” he said, “told me that you seem to have great potential. That you already have a grasp of how to go about writing music.”

I smiled at him, but it meant had meant more to me when I wasn’t suppose to have heard it.